Resolution
by Red River
Summary: "Castiel was not sure what was happening. He knew only that he was being drawn inexorably, inevitably toward Sam, a pull that began as an ache in his chest and echoed in Sam's eyes. " At a snowy lodge under a winter sky, Sam and Castiel spend midnight together, as the year and everything else comes to a close. Cas/Sam slash. Finale of the Other Guardian 'verse.
1. Twilight

A/N: This is the next story in a mild AU/canon divergence series called The Other Guardian 'verse. There is a more detailed note about it on my profile, but in brief: after Dean is raised from Hell by Castiel, an entire year passes before the Lilith rises and the seals start to break. During that time, Castiel is assigned to watch over the Winchesters, and finds himself growing closer and closer to Sam.

This story follows "Home for the Holidays," and also refers heavily to "A Change in the Weather." As it's basically the culmination of the Other Guardian 'verse, though, it does make references to other stories in that 'verse, too. I've been looking forward to this story for a while; please enjoy.

Notes: A two-shot story, rotating POV. Castiel/Sam slash. Kisses.

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**Twilight**

The Devil's Thumb Ranch looked even better under a coating of new snow, Sam decided, looking out across the white-frosted wooden buildings as the Impala crunched down the final curve in the icy mountain road and rolled into the parking lot. The sunset was just starting out the rear windshield, and the mountains above the lodge were streaked with brilliant pink light that picked out every detail of the snow-covered trees and made the welcoming yellow windows of the lodge seem to glow even brighter than he remembered. Or maybe it was the season that had really upped its charm—the gutters of the main lodge were hung with luminous strings of icicle lights, encased in real icicles where the Rocky Mountain weather had apparently melted the snow on the roof and then frozen it again. The whole place seemed to be shining, hazy and warm beyond the foggy passenger window. Sam reached into the back seat and yanked his backpack into his lap, and then paused with his fingers crooked on the door handle, shooting a smile at the figure in the driver's seat.

"Thanks for the ride, Dean."

Dean snorted and turned up the heat, drumming his new leather gloves against the rim of the steering wheel. "I should've dropped your ass in Tabernash. I forgot how far this place was from the highway." Sam rolled his eyes, too tired of being in the car with his brother to call Dean on his bullshit; Dean leaned forward and peered up at the lodge through the scatter of ice crystals the windshield wipers had missed and made a face halfway between disgust and disbelief. "I don't know, Sammy. I know it's free, but…we just got out of yuppie hell. You sure you want to spend New Year's Eve in yuppie purgatory?"

"At least twice as much as I want to spend it puking up bad whiskey in an icebox port-a-potty," Sam countered, brushing his hair back so he could tug a ski hat down over his ears. "Which is what you're going to be doing if you actually go back to that skeevy dive bar we drove past thirty minutes ago. Seriously, Dean—reconsider. Your stomach lining will thank you in the morning."

Dean shrugged, apparently not at all fazed by the thought of losing that semiprecious part of his anatomy. "Hey—new year, new stomach lining. Besides, I need a night off from your sappy ass. If chucking up blue and red highballs is the price of that, well…it's been a while since I puked purple."

Sam hoped his brother didn't actually have experience with how colored cocktails mixed in a toilet bowl, but with Dean, there was never any telling. Honestly, time had taught him he was happiest knowing as little as possible about what went into and subsequently came out of Dean's stomach on any given night out. Firmly ensconced in gloves, hat, and winter scarf, he swung the car door open and stepped out into the late afternoon chill, hefting his backpack up onto the shoulder of his heavy brown coat and looking up at the snow-encrusted lodge once more.

Pretty much the second the ordeal with Archosias was over, he and Dean had come to a rare unanimous decision that they were on vacation until at least after New Year's, with the definite possibility of an extension. They had hung around the Gerbers' house a few days after Christmas, just to make sure there wasn't going to be any delayed-action fallout from all the trouble with the bells, before finally packing up their meager belongings on the twenty-eighth, almost a full month after they'd first arrived on Briarwood Drive. Dean had been so happy to get away from so-called _suburgatory_ Sam was honestly shocked he wasn't turning cartwheels down the Gerbers' icy driveway as he packed the car.

Sam himself had been a little less than thrilled to be saying a permanent goodbye to the couch and the Christmas tree, and all the memories scattered through the house like precious scenes in snowglobes. So he'd been both surprised and unexpectedly pleased when he slipped carrying the Gerbers' mail into the house on the last afternoon and went down hard, scattering letters and magazines all over himself and the glacial front steps—not pleased with the spill, per se, or with Dean hyena-cackling at him from the deck over the garage, but with the waxy postcard that landed on his chest, a courtesy reminder that Mr. and Mrs. Gerber had a standing reservation for a suite at the Devil's Thumb Ranch on New Year's Eve, which they definitely weren't going to make this year. Dean hadn't shown the slightest interest in going, but narrow hallways and tiny, angry fellow lodgers aside, Sam couldn't help the little leap in his heartbeat at the memory of the lodge where he and Cas had first shared a soda, where Cas had first said goodnight to him, where Cas had stopped him from falling that very first time. He couldn't imagine passing up the chance to go back—not at New Year's, when everything was about to start over again. When there was a tiny sliver of a possibility of one last chance to get everything he wanted before the clock struck midnight.

Dean hadn't exactly been thrilled. Needless to say, Sam was pretty sure if he hadn't almost died recently he would have been hitchhiking to Tabernash.

"Hey! You're letting the heat out."

The irate voice brought Sam back to the sunset and the December chill shuddering in his lungs, and he stamped his feet, bending down to look into the car with one hand on the door. Dean raised his eyebrows, jerking a thumb toward the open road to the west.

"Last chance, Sammy. Tag along with your awesome big brother and find some modestly hot girl to ring in the new year with?"

Sam's lips quirked up at the corners. "Modestly?"

Dean shrugged. "The hottest one's mine, obviously."

Sam shook his head, not quite sure if he was smiling because his brother was kind of funny even when he was an asshole or because he still hadn't found the right stretch of interstate to explain to his brother that he really wasn't interested in any girls, no matter how modest. Maybe Dean was right—maybe all they needed was a little time apart. Maybe by the time his brother screeched back in to pick him up, he'd have figured out exactly how to say _I'm head over heels for your guardian angel and it's not going away_. Sam patted the icy top of the car.

"I'll pass. Thanks anyway, Dean. Besides," he added, trying to keep his voice even, "Cas said he might stop by."

Sam thought that was probably what Castiel had said, at least. The angel had stopped in a few times since Christmas, but never long enough for Sam to teach him more than the bare bones of how to use his new phone, and Cas was at least two or three sessions from mastering texting. His last message was a garble of symbols a cryptographer couldn't have untangled. Sam was pretty sure there was a _yes_ in there somewhere, though. Something warm and light pressed out against his ribs at the thought of being at the lodge with Cas again—just Cas this time—though he tried not to let it show on his face. Luckily, Dean's thoughts didn't seem to be riding the same railroad as his.

"Cas? Ugh—fantastic. Like I haven't had enough of that sad sack to last me a lifetime." Sam rolled his eyes again and slammed the door, and Dean let the Impala drift forward a few inches, though he rolled down the window before Sam could turn for the lodge. "Take it easy, Sammy. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he added, through a grin that was all teeth.

Sam had never in his entire life come close to violating that mandate. Now, he wasn't so sure. He opted not to make any promises he couldn't keep. "Drive safe, okay?"

"Whatever, Grandma," Dean hollered as he cranked up the Metallica. Then he sped out of the parking lot and screamed up the icy road, carving around snowy curves with a dexterity that proved once again he'd been born with a steering wheel in his hands and couldn't crash if he tried. At least there had been a seedy hotel right next to the seedy bar, so Dean would have no reason to get behind the wheel half-torpedoed by rainbow cocktails. Sam watched him until the Impala disappeared over the crest of the hill; then he resettled his backpack strap over his shoulder and hurried inside before the cold could get into his bones.

Checked in and standing in the doorway of the Gerbers' reserved suite, Sam had to admit that his brother had been right, back in March, when he'd complained about staying in the bunkhouse—the rooms at the main lodge were more than a few steps up the accommodations ladder. There were no marauding flies, no cramped bathroom with toilet and sink precariously coexisting, no low-hanging log just waiting to ambush him at an inopportune moment; instead, the gleaming bathroom offered a full Jacuzzi, and the polished wood furniture displayed a host of amenities, from flat-screen TV and complimentary coffee maker to an iPod docking station. In the next-to-walk-in closet hung two of the fluffy white robes Dean had been so excited about last time, and a gas fire like the one in the Gerbers' living room crackled in a hearth of gray river flagstones. But the thing that caught Sam's attention and held it for good was the massive king-sized bed in a heavy wooden frame underneath the panoramic windows, which looked out across the fields of snow toward the smaller, private cabins, pinpricks of light shimmering in the closing darkness. Sam toed off his shoes and then sat down on the edge of the mattress, smoothing his hand across the soft red quilt.

Even though it meant he'd spent about three-quarters of Christmas Day unconscious, he hadn't been able to resist drifting off with his head on Castiel's shoulder and the angel wrapped around him, one gentle hand wandering through his hair as Cas's heart beat a whispered lullaby against the shell of his ear. He had kept his gaze on the Christmas tree, glittering over Castiel's shoulder, and when his eyes finally slipped closed he had imagined that the golden glow against his eyelids was nothing as commonplace as incandescent lights nestled in evergreen boughs—it was the glow of Castiel's wings, swept around him as soft and unstoppable as a snowstorm, all that warmth and grace and love easing everything that had been wrong inside of him for so long. He didn't have to remember his dreams to know they had been beautiful.

Sam had never slept more peacefully than he had that night, buried in Castiel's arms. He wanted to spend every night like that for the rest of his life. He wanted that kind of night again here, now. And maybe, if Castiel had meant everything he said that night in the halo of the Christmas tree, with his wings on fire against Sam's skin, if he had meant what Sam prayed he meant, underneath it all—maybe Sam wanted just a little bit more.

The welcome papers on the rugged pine desk fluttered in a sudden breeze, and Sam's heart shivered in his chest as he recognized the rustle of those beautiful wings that had his fingerprints on them. He lifted his head and smiled up into serious blue eyes.

"Hey, Cas."

Just a little bit more. Or maybe just a little more than that.

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One chapter to go. Thanks for reading.


	2. Midnight

A/N: This is the next story in a mild AU/canon divergence series called The Other Guardian 'verse. There is a more detailed note about it on my profile, but in brief: after Dean is raised from Hell by Castiel, an entire year passes before the Lilith rises and the seals start to break. During that time, Castiel is assigned to watch over the Winchesters, and finds himself growing closer and closer to Sam.

This story follows "Home for the Holidays," and also refers heavily to "A Change in the Weather." As it's basically the culmination of the Other Guardian 'verse, though, it does make references to other stories in that 'verse, too. I've been looking forward to this story for a while; please enjoy.

Notes: A two-shot story, rotating POV. Castiel/Sam slash. Kisses.

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**Midnight**

The stars seemed brighter here. Castiel had not noticed the contrast, last time—had hardly noticed the stars at all, from a human perspective, until one night in early May on a rooftop that smelled of salt spray, lying next to Sam and looking up at tiny bursts of light that were somehow wishes, too. Now everywhere he walked on the human plane, he noticed the stars, circling on their infinite wheels, bright Orion pressed into the eastern sky over the white mountains, the individual stars seeming to flicker in the rising curtain of hot tub steam. He had come to notice so many things, in the time since he and Sam had last been here, shadows under the stars.

Castiel had lived an eternity without changing in any way that mattered. Yet somehow, in a handful of months he could count on his stolen fingers, so much had changed within him that he could hardly reconcile who he had been with who he was. He and Sam had shared a meal in the same restaurant, at the same table, but this time when he let Sam press the fork to his lips it was not out of idle curiosity for the taste wrapped around the tines, it was because he liked the way Sam smiled after every bite; he and Sam had returned to the fire pit beyond the restaurant's high windows, stared into equivalent flames as his shoes hissed against the snow, but this time he could not stop his hand from seeking Sam's, entwining their fingers and tracing his thumb over the hollow of Sam's palm, and Sam had let him, pressing his lips together as if he were keeping some secret locked behind them. Less than three hundred days before, he had stood at the railing above the pool area, beneath the hanging lights that swayed in the soft winter breeze, and watched Sam and Dean in this same hot tub, and though he had seen everything he had somehow missed everything, too—he had not noticed the way the water shimmered on Sam's skin or the snowflakes freezing into his wet hair, pinpricks of light like stars tangled in the dark strands. He had not been close enough to feel the sharpness of the frozen flagstones under his hands, or the heat of the water lapping against his legs, bare to the knees, or the impossible contrast between the two, each almost unbearable in their own way, opposite sensations somehow holding themselves in balance. And he could not have imagined, then, ever sitting close enough to Sam to feel the soft weight of the other man's head against his arm, his warm, water-soaked body pressed close to Castiel's knees, every breath a brush of cooling steam that tingled against his skin. Castiel had abandoned his coat and suit jacket on one of the unused lounge chairs, shielding Sam's towel from the snow, but even through the thin fabric of his white shirt he could not feel the cold flakes drifting silently down over them—not when Sam already held him suspended at the confluence of this impossible clash, the crossroads of ice and fire.

The mountains in the distance sunk back against the sky, the ivory slopes dull in the bare light of the sickle moon—but closer to them, beyond the high glass windbreak that separated them from the rest of the lodge, the snowfields shone in patches and squares, the shapes of lit windows replicated in blinding white. One level above them, inside another rambling building of wood and fissured stone, Castiel could discern the distant shapes of people laughing, drinking, moving together to the far-off chords of music, another decorated pine tree gleaming in the window. As midnight had approached, the crowd within grew until their forms filled every long window, all huddled together in pairs of two. Castiel wondered what they were waiting for. The pool area was empty except for him and Sam, the only two figures braving the dark and the cold; Castiel looked down and watched a snowflake settle against Sam's cheekbone, and then lifted a hand to brush it carefully away, hazel eyes flickering open to find his as Sam offered an easy smile. Castiel tipped his head to one side.

"Are you cold, Sam?" he asked.

Sam shook his head, the wet tips of his hair grazing Castiel's arm and igniting a shiver on his skin. "Mm. I'm okay. The water's almost too warm, actually. Sure you don't want to come in, Cas?"

Castiel glanced down at the dark expanse of the hot tub, considerably wider across than the one they had shared in Las Vegas. "No," he replied. He was still somewhat at a loss as to what humans found enjoyable about submersion.

Sam's laugh was a breath, barely, so soft Castiel doubted he would have heard it if he had not felt the vibration that accompanied it, Sam's body rocking gently against his. "I guess some things never change, huh?"

Castiel was not certain what Sam meant. Everything had changed. When he looked at the world, he no longer saw atoms and molecules, the fragments of creation and the dust of stars. He saw memories. The world was a symphony, touchstones and codas, and everything in it seemed to be about him and Sam—the hot tub and the murmur of dark water and the tapestry of stars woven above their heads, time and space curled into a globe so that he and Sam could watch them shine. Snow and firelight were about Sam. Forks and bell peppers and bubbles in soda glasses were about Sam. Even the steam writhing up between them was a memory, the scent of lemon rising from a warm mug pressed into his hands, the first time Sam had ever tried to be something more to him. And Sam—Sam was not just flesh and breath and heartbeat anymore, the unconscious tremors of a living thing. Sam was light. Sam was heat. Sam was what angels were meant to be, before they were twisted into soldiers. Sam was what he loved, and Castiel did not want to love anything else for the rest of his life.

In the hot tub beside him, Sam shifted to rest his temple against the angel's arm, the small movement sending a slow ripple out across the black water. "It's almost been a year, huh?" he murmured, glancing up to catch curious blue eyes. "Since you came down to watch over Dean…over us, I guess." A tiny smile curled at the edges of Sam's lips, and he leaned in, pressing his face into the soft folds of Castiel's shirt. "I know we don't ever say it enough, but…thank you, Cas. Thank you so much, for everything you've done for us."

Castiel was not sure when he had lifted his hand. He didn't feel it until his fingertips threaded into Sam's wet hair, brushing the cold strands back from his face one slow sweep at a time. "I should thank you in return, Sam," he said. Sam blinked, shivering a little as Castiel hooked a lock of hair behind his ear and inadvertently knocked a few snowflakes onto his bare shoulders. Castiel admonished himself to be more careful.

"We haven't done much…you know." Sam shrugged into the water. "Watching over."

"No," Castiel agreed, and wondered at the way Sam's mouth curved up in response. His fingers trailed absently down Sam's neck in the moments before he found the will to lift them away, pressing them to the cold flagstones once more and ignoring the way they ached for the warmth of Sam's skin. He looked down into waiting hazel eyes and found himself almost whispering, feeling somehow as though the world was listening and the words he wanted to say were only for Sam. "I have lived a thousand lifetimes, Sam, and never had a year like this one."

Sam swallowed, his lips parting around a sharp breath. When he spoke, it was in a whisper, too. "Neither have I."

Castiel was not sure what was happening. He knew only that he was being drawn inexorably, inevitably toward Sam, a pull that began as an ache in his chest and echoed in Sam's eyes. Castiel felt its gravity even as Sam inhaled deeply and drew away from him, rising to his full height and taking a step toward the center of the pool, and then coming to a stop again, not quite out of reach. He turned around with his lips pressed tightly together, as he had at the fire, as if there were something he could not say. Castiel watched him through the shadows and the steam and wondered if he would ever find the words to tell Sam how beautiful he was like this, with the stars cast out behind him and snowflakes in his hair, his skin glistening with the heat of the water, and his heart broken open on his face, all his emotions right there for the angel to read. It was the longing he understood best, that resonated so strongly in the empty cavity of his chest, and Castiel found he was gripping the lip of the stone just to keep himself from pushing forward into the water. Sam looked down and shook his head, and then blinked very fast, as if there were something in his eyes.

"You came all the way here, just to be with me."

Castiel leaned forward over the water, reaching out a hand to push one last strand of wet hair away from Sam's face. "There is nowhere I would prefer to be, Sam, if I could be with you." His hand flickered down to brush Sam's cheek with the backs of his fingers, and Sam leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment as his parted lips grazed the angel's knuckles. Castiel wondered if the nerves in his fingers would ever stop prickling.

Somewhere in the building above them, he heard voices raised in a shout, counting down from thirty—Castiel did not know what they were counting to, but somehow all the same he did not want them to reach one, because it felt as if once they did this moment would be over, and he would have missed something irreplaceable again. He did not want to miss anything with Sam. He did not want anything with Sam to ever end. Then Sam's eyes were open again, and he slid forward through the water, one slow step at a time, until he stood right in front of Castiel, barely an inch between them. Sam carved a hand through his hair and looked up at the angel, biting his lip.

"Cas, do you, um—do you know anything about New Year…?" Then he seemed to change his mind, and he ducked his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips as he lifted one hand and laid it over Castiel's on the edge of the pool, his fingers burning against the angel's and banishing the cold. "There's sort of this custom, at midnight on New Year's Eve, if you're with someone you…"

Castiel thought the last word was _love_. Sam's lips opened around the word, but he couldn't hear anything beyond his vessel's blood pounding in his veins and the shouting of the countdown, a hundred voices lifting higher and higher as they moved from three to two to one. Then Sam's second hand slid around his neck and pulled him down just as Sam leaned up out of the water and pressed their lips together, his eyes fluttering closed—and suddenly the voices were nothing, and the sky was nothing, because everything was Sam, the soft brush of dry skin where their lips met and the impossible crash of excruciating heat on cold skin and the ringing in his ears that was his heart forgetting to beat, his lungs losing all breath as he kissed Sam for the first time. The snowflakes on their shoulders, the damp skin of Sam's chest pressed against his knees, the icy stone under his fingers—all the strange and imperfect pieces of them lost all meaning as everything Castiel was and had ever been riveted to this moment, the perfect, irresistible pressure of Sam's lips against his.

His wings unfurled at his back and swept out, uncontrollable, overwhelmed, enflaming a whirl of snowflakes around them as Sam pulled back slowly and sank down into the water, and then gave in to a slow smile, a soft curve just teasing at the edge of his lips. Castiel loved that smile, but he could not bear to see it from so far away—then his hand was tangled in Sam's hair, and he was struggling to remind himself to be infinitely gentle with this fragile being as he pulled Sam up to him again, everything in him rectified and redeemed as those soft lips met his. He was not certain he could ever be without them again. Sam sucked in a breath against his mouth, and Castiel had to chase it, because he couldn't stand even a breath between them. Sam settled one soft hand against his shoulder, and Castiel felt the impact in the depths of his bones. He brought their lips together twice, three times, four before he could bear to let Sam pull away, just far enough for them to breathe, the cold tip of his nose grazing Sam's as the young man looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Cas…" Sam murmured, the steam of his breath breaking over the angel's lips. Castiel wanted to hear Sam say his name that way over and over until the end of time. Just its echo ached in his ears.

"Sam," he said, and the name was alive on his tongue, breathless as a lightning storm. "Sam. Sam." He could feel the name hammering in his chest, too, beating at his breastbone, the only rhythm his heart had ever known. He wondered how he had been so ignorant of it for so long.

There was another word, an equally important word, flickering at the back of his mind, struggling to make its way to his tongue through the haze of static and rising steam—a word he had asked about once, so long ago, and felt for the first time, he knew now, at the top of a golden spire, staring out across a city of endless light; Castiel cupped his hand along the back of Sam's neck and pressed the other over the young man's heart, his fingertips instantly sore with the throb of that precious heartbeat.

"You are beloved, Sam," he said, and watched a beautiful smile break across his face, the stars and the snow shining in his luminous eyes as Sam reached up and wound his arms around the angel's neck, their noses brushing as he pulled them as close as their bodies allowed.

"Say my name again, Cas," Sam whispered against his lips. Castiel felt his heart stutter, just as it had the last time.

"Sa—" Then Sam rose to him again, and the name broke between them, lost in the warm pocket of Sam's mouth slotted against his, the spark of their colliding tongues. He forgot he had even been speaking as he wrapped his arms around Sam in return and pulled him in, surrendering to the feeling rising in his chest, scorching like wildfire, unstoppable as the sea.

Castiel had never understood the human obsession with physical love. But that was no longer true by the time dawn crept into the sky above the snow-covered mountains and slipped through the cleft between drawn curtains to illuminate the disorder of tangled sheets on a large bed in a wooden frame, two forms curled together in the very center. By then Castiel knew the smell of Sam's damp hair against the cotton of the pillow, and how intoxicating it was to be that close to someone loved, with nothing but heated skin between them. He knew the sound of Sam's laugh as he brushed kisses across the soft arch of his foot, and the way that laughter became a sigh when he pressed his lips to the softest skin on the inside of his knee, Sam's head thrown back into the pillows but his eyes fighting to stay open, locked on Castiel's, as if he could not bear to lose sight of him. He knew the contours of the beautiful words Sam whispered, _please_ and _I trust you_, and his own name, the most enthralling of all when it was breathed into his ear, a secret sound no one but he and Sam had ever heard. How soft he was, from the first to the last moment, every hard edge of the human form vanishing as he gave himself to Castiel, and asked only the same in return. But most of all he knew that nothing that set his grace so aflame inside of him could ever be blasphemy, and that there was nothing but reverence in the brush of his lips against Sam's neck as he wrapped his arms around him, soothing Sam to sleep. Love was not idolatry; it was exaltation, and Castiel would never believe otherwise.

How could he, when he was staring into drowsy hazel eyes, just flickering open as the sun reached the crown of the mountains, sunlight spilling into the room at the same time as Sam's contented smile.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel had thought, once, that he knew what beauty was. But he had known Sam now, every inch of him, and beauty did not come close. He slid his hand down the soft planes of Sam's stomach and twined their fingers together, and took Sam's hand all over again.

**The End**

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Thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to read our long but hopefully satisfying Other Guardian 'verse. What started as an attempt simply to rectify parts of the series and make room for Castiel and Sam to have more of a relationship has evolved into an enormous project of which I am very proud, a mosaic of the paving stones leading Sam and Cas from friendship into the deepest kind of love. All of the support from readers has been essential in helping us go on, so let me say, once and for all: Thank you for all the reviews and comments, long and short, the kudos and the reblogs and the recommendations, because nothing is more fulfilling as a writer than getting to share your vision with others, and knowing they like what they see.

This is the final story in the Other Guardian 'verse, in a way; I absolutely intend to write more stories about Cas and Sam, now that they're together, but they will probably be more like floating one-shots or the occasional long story, and less a steady progression through the seasons. It's been such a pleasure to write for these two, and to get to know their fans gradually through this medium. Thank you for making the Other Guardian 'verse an acknowledged part of the Sastiel tapestry. Best wishes for the new year.

Red River


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